


Savage Born

by branding101



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blood Magic, Cousin Incest, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Sansa as a wildling, Teenage Rebellion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 11:43:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8142506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/branding101/pseuds/branding101
Summary: AU: Where Sansa grows up to be a wilding after being given away to the king of the free folk. In hopes that the horrible future bestowed upon her at birth would come true. However, the power of prophecy always had a funny way of pulling it's victims back into its clutches. 
"There drawn in the snow appeared to be a bleeding beast. His mouth open as if waiting to spit hellfire from his mouth. Above him lays a crown of bloody blue roses."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Guys! 
> 
> So it has been a long time since I have written and I know that many of you are going to ask about Shades of You an I and rest assured it is coming! Being a college student means tests and examines so I do not get a lot of writing done in-between then. However, this little bad guy right here commanded to be written and so it is. 
> 
> Enjoy!

She could feel the snow that fell from the heavens above as they landed upon her skin. Tilting her head up a pink tongue slipped out welcoming the droplets as they slid to the back of her mouth. Cornflower blue eyes widened in pleasure for they tasted like winter not like the warm winter that fell more south, but that of the north. 

Here in the tundra tucked away from the rules of the southern kings and their painted queens there was an entirely different way of living. Unlike the painted queens the woman in her culture did not pride themselves in what they looked like, instead their core focus was on their fighting skills. Like their mothers before them the young girls were gifted with a choice of weapons upon turning two moons. She remembered her father with his fiery hair similar to her own smiling mischievously to her mother who looked disappointed. For instead of choosing the bow and arrow like her friend, or axe like her mother she chose something else entirely. 

Placed upon the stone makeshift table the elder of the clan laid out the twickets before her. Father said her eyes looked between the shiny toys and gurgled before her tiny chubby hands reached not for the table. Instead her hands reached for the hilt of elders sword the one that was bestowed upon him by the last ruler of the clan. The elders painted face crinkled in amusement however mother was said to have gone so pale she rivaled that of the fresh snowfall. Father barked out a laugh to which the rest of the tribe followed. 

Now at the age of three and one moon Sansa unlike her peers did not join in the daily combat practices, instead she would come to high top of the wintery hills and meditate. For everyone had a future occupation in the tribe. Unlike her best friend Ygritte who was to be a spearwife, she was to be the leader. Choosing the sword meant she was to be trained and crafted into that of the perfect warrior and protector. Her training consisted of doing daily meditations on top of the frozen hills and going to clan meetings. She also would join her master Mance Rayder in the afternoons for training of the sword. 

Sansa felt an invisible weight of pressure weigh upon her shoulders. Once Mance died the clan would proclaim her the next ruler, their chief, their protector. Their Queen. 

Sometimes she wondered what it would be like just to runaway. To be someone else, creating a false name and story she could go anywhere. Even south of the wall if she wanted to. Then she would look upon her tribe from the mountain side and cast away the negative thoughts that plagued her. She had to harden herself against folly wishes and tame the flight response when it came to that of fighting. Sansa held the first man’s blood and with that she was a force to be reckoned with. 

She might not be ready yet, but she was going to fight all obstacles to keep her people safe.   
“Sansa, you still playing loner up here?” came the teasing voice of her best friend. Turning her head to the left she slightly frowned at the mischievous glint that occupied her forest green eyes. The elder girl by two years held her beloved bow in one hand while the other carried the arrows. Looking closely one could see the dry blood that coated the metallic heads. Her fresh kill was dragged behind her in a bloody heap of limps. “It is near sunrise we must ready for the peace trade with the southerners.” 

Sansa wrinkled her nose at the command. Today Mance and her father along with some of the young fighters were going to trade with the man they called King Kneeler. This man had apparently fought in his southern rulers war against the dragons that once ruled the entire realm. Though ferocious at the mention of the great beasts her people would become silent like trained dogs. Once a long time ago the Starks and The Free Folk were friends and would travel back and forth with no qualms, however that was before the wall of ice was built. Before her people were casted as thieves, rapist, and savages by the those of the southern north. She felt her stomach twist in irritation. 

“I do not understand Mance’s mind.” Sansa said untying her hair allowing for the waves of sunset tresses to fall free down her back. A agitated sigh escaped her lips as her hands ran through her hair undoing the knots from the braid. “Why, would we trade with people that think of us as nothing but flee bitten mutts? If anything we should retract before something goes wrong.” 

“You think that something bad will happen?” She questioned knowing to listen to Sansa whenever she held such feelings. For sometimes when Sansa would speak of such distresses and people ignored her words sometimes there were heavy consequences. The older members of their clan called her a dream walker for she would see events. The strange part was that no one in the clan had heard of a dream walker in centuries, and the last they heard it was a Stark. 

Sansa turned her attention back towards the grey clouded sky, silent for a few minutes her lips forming into a hard line. Taking a breath before answering “A few nights ago I had a dream. Snow covered the ground, the winds blew harsh against the earth for it was winter. Yet, this winter was unlike the others this one was more eerie feeling.” her voice growing ominous as Ygritte felt a chill race up her spine. 

“There drawn in the snow appeared to be a bleeding beast. His mouth open as if waiting to spit hellfire from his mouth. Above him lays a crown of bloody blue roses. Then the dream changes quickly, I am then standing back here at home.”

“Did you speak to Mance about this vision?” She questioned 

“He says to put it behind for now, the deal between the parties must carry on. As the future leader of our people it is my duty to go and see what our southern neighbors look like.” Sansa repeated his words. 

“To make sure that you know what they look like in case of potential trade offs?” her friend asked a confused look on her face. 

“No. Incase a time comes when I need to know who the right man to kill is.” 

__________________________________________________

 

They had been riding for what seemed to be weeks now. Her thighs had numbed a long time ago as they beat against her black horse. Pale freckled hands held tightly to the horse's mane as the pressure of the speed and wind threatened to throw her off if not careful. The party had departed from the village a few moon turns now. 

On the way they hunted down any type of food that they could. Ygritte along with some other archers always came back with a fresh bloodied kill for the night's dinner. Together they would sit around the fire listening to their older warriors tell stories about their gods. Then once daylight broke they would again ride until the sun no longer burned. Though there was a wall separating the people of the south and north Mance knew how to get to the other side. 

Looking forward she could see her father and leader motioning for the party to stop. Tugging on her horse's mane she urged him to a full stop. The two elder men began talking in hissed whispers before father turned on his horse eyes looking directly at her. A look of a kind of sadness highlight his face. Making the pit of her stomach want to drop. 

“Sansa, come here girl.” He called waving his hand beckoning her forward to which she kicked her horse to move in response. The horse settled beside his this close up she could see her father's pale blue eyes. The woman said she looked like her mother yet her eyes were all of her father’s that and his righteous temper. Now, the eyes she once looked to for guidance stared at her with warmth and something else she could not put her finger on. “Look down beyond the hilltop do you see them?” He asked 

Turning her eyes away from her father she scanned the barren land. It was only when her eyes caught the sight of grey banners did her eyes come to a stop. There at the foot of the kill were four riders, from this distance she could see they were men. Lords, for they did not have furs carved from animals like hers did instead they were bound in leather and capes. The sigil of a white wolf decorated their banners. 

“The kneeler and his men I assume.” She said back voice laced with stoney ire. Her father shook his head at her before turning back to their leader. 

“We will ride down now. Remember this is a peace trade not a bloody pillage.” Mance said looking around mostly towards the twins who were known for trouble. Turning back he nodded at her father before gripping his horse's mane and urging it down the snowy path. The others began to follow down. 

Once they settled on the even ground Sansa kept her face a mask of neutrality minding to not show her hostel emotions to the newcomers. Getting closer she could see the faces of them clearly. On top of a white horse sat a middle aged gentlemen his sandy brown hair hung to his jawline. Eyes the color of steel stared back at the upcoming group. This must be the legend Eddard Stark. 

Mance stopped a couple of feet away from the kneeler and his companions. The two men held eyes for a second before her leader smiled and said “Hello Eddard, after all these years I still see you have not grown out of that somber face.” 

That earned a small smile from the other man his voice gruff when he spoke “It seems your jokes still hold old friend. Time has been kind to you.” He said eyes wandering over to the group seated next to him studying them. Once they reached hers his careful placed smile turned down for a quick second as his eyes flashed with something akin to longing. Before she could fully decode his look he turned back to their leader and reached an arm out waving it swiftly. “Come old friend, you and your party must be hungry and tired. Let my home be yours for the rest of your stay.” 

With that the Kneeler King and the Free King rode side by side.


End file.
